Monica let out a breath she’d been holding. “For a minute there, I thought we might be in trouble.”
“It might not look like much, but I’ve got the basics covered here.” He crossed the room to look out the window. “This storm just doesn’t want to stop, does it?”
Monica carefully followed. “It would be very pretty if—”
He glanced down at her. “If it wasn’t keeping you from whoever you need to get back to?”
She resisted an eye roll. “It’s notget back to.”
“Ah, but there is someone?”
A high-maintenance bride. “A friend from school.”
“College?”
“Boarding school.” She lifted her chin in the direction of outside. “This isn’t that foreign to me, you know.”
“That’s right. Skiing in the Alps every Wednesday.”
“The Swiss take sports education very seriously.”
“Very.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“I’m reacting to the idea that weekly downhill skiing—in theAlps—is a regular gym class.”
They were quiet for a moment, and the wind chose that moment to howl extra hard. It made her even more grateful to be inside, safe and warm, with Josh taking care of her. Even with his reactions to her boarding school experience.
“I have snowshoes,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s not quite the same as skis, but—”
“Yes.”
“It’s harder than it looks. A real workout. So maybe not tonight.”
Tomorrow, if the universe was willing, she’d be gone. “No, tonight is…it’s perfect out there. Let’s do it. I could use some fresh air.”
He glanced to where her boots were sitting by the door. “Those aren’t made for snowshoeing.”
They weren’t heels, so she didn’t see the problem.
“They’re not warm enough. Take the girl out of the Alps for a few years—”
“Almost seven years—”
“And how quickly she forgets.” He ignored her correction. “What size are you?”
“Eight.”
He fired off a text message. Less than a minute later, just long enough for her to lose herself in the snow globe out the window again, he had a reply. “Yeah, as I thought, August wears eight and a half. That’s probably close enough for our purposes. You can wear an extra pair of socks. You want anything else from a house with two girls in it?”
“Who’s August?” The question burst out of her.
She knew the sisters-in-law by name. There was no August.
“My neighbour across the street.”
Monica hated—hated—the spike of whatever feelingthatwas. A neighbour across the street, and he knew her shoe size?
